Chapter Text
Harsh moonlight cascading through the prison bars were the only signs of time passing that could be found from within the cell. Six rising and falling suns and moons had appeared since Vanitas had been thrown into its confinements, mind still hazy from whatever had been slipped into his drink and separated from Noé. Tonight, the moon was brighter than it had been in the days prior, it’s glow not dulled by clouds and shining that same, brilliant blue that it had been on the night that he had met Noé; what felt like so long ago.
A whisper flitted through the trees outside, a teasing sound, reminding Vanitas of where he lay, trapped by the same masked curse-bearers that he and Noé had been tailing for days, not allowing him even a moment of delusion as he curled tighter beneath the sheets that lay on the ground of the cell. He’d had his every possession removed, the Book of Vanitas had been torn from his grasp the moment his gaze had began to slide out of focus - he’d felt his clothes being torn off and remembered hearing Noé calling out for him, before the memories fell fragmented and out of place; leading him back to where he lay.
Vanitas hadn’t heard a word from Noé since. He tried, whenever a hooded and masked figure appeared to slide food beneath the iron-clad door of the cell, to coerce some sort of response from his captor. They never said a word, he’d never seen so much as a glimpse of their face, and they were yet to take any of the bait he tried luring them in with. He hadn’t heard another person speak for so long he wondered if he was going insane - the only thing he could cling onto was the fact that he hadn’t heard screams and the fact that he was yet to undergo any sort of torture or torment.
Unless isolating him into madness was their method of getting him to crack.
A shriek reverberated throughout the corridor outside Vanitas’ prison, the sign that someone was coming to bring him food - but something felt off. It had been like clockwork, he’d noticed, as the moon began to set and the sun peeked over the horizon, the figure would arrive; but the moon was still hung high in the sky, it was hours before they should be here. Today, their tread fell slower than usual. The familiar, thundering steps accompanied by a scraping sound, as though his captor were bringing something other than that same metal tray the food arrived on.
As the footsteps slowed to a halt outside the door, Vanitas sat up straight, forcing his lethargy aside and welcoming the hit of cold air that greeted him as he abandoned the accumulated warmth beneath the sheet. The creaking sound of the latch opening struck fear through Vanitas, fear at what was going to be stood there when the door opened, at what he was going to experience when his captors decided that he’d had enough time alone. The door slowly opened, the moonlight throwing shadows across the two figures stood in the doorway for only a moment before the one released the other and slammed the door shut; locking them both in.
The figure swayed for a moment, stumbling forward, pure white hair glistening in the bluish glow of the moon, before letting out a howl of pain and collapsing to the ground.
“Noé!” Vanitas gasped, pushing the sheet off him and falling to Noé’s side, rolling him onto his back so that Vanitas could see him clearer. His face was littered with cuts and bruises, blood matting his hair and trickling down fresh cuts across his eyes. Vanitas felt his hands shaking as he pushed aside Noé’s shirt, eyes darting over the deep gashes across his chest and stomach “What happened?!”
Noé stirred for a moment, eyes fluttering open at the familiar voice before wincing and holding them tightly shut, his hands balling into fists at his side.
“Don’t know” he murmured, intaking a sharp breath and dropping his head back against the concrete, “They got us”
“I know that,” Vanitas hissed, fighting back the urge to smack Noé for the abundantly stupid statement, mind tripping over itself with muddled thoughts on how to find help. He rushed to the sheet, tearing it into strips to create a tourniquet for the most malignant injuries, and began work on wrapping the fabric around Noé’s torso. Despite being only partially conscious, Noé winced each time Vanitas brushed against one of the cuts, tears slipping down his face from behind his closed eyelids, jaw set as he clenched his teeth together in pain.
“I’m fine” Noé muttered unconvincingly as Vanitas used the last of the sheet to try and bandage some of the open wounds that he hadn’t noticed on Noé’s arms, his breathing becoming louder and more laboured, staggering breaths hitching in his throat.
Vanitas turned to face the slowly falling moon, staring out at the darkness with unfocused eyes, mind on the severity of Noé’s injuries, on all the ways he could be saved if only they could be free of their incarceration. The minutes trickled by as the slim hope he had that Noé would be okay began to fade, he was resolute in what he didn’t want to do - the one way he could think of that could save Noé being the one thing he didn’t want to do under any circumstances, ever.
The moment he saw Noé’s condition Vanitas had feared that it would come to this. Exhaling slowly, Vanitas ducked beneath Noé’s shoulder to help him to the nearest wall, propping him up against it and dropping to sit beside him. He brought his wrist up to his face, studying his pale skin for a moment, gazing at the veins in which the blood of the vampire of the blue moon ran, bringing it to his mouth and puncturing the skin. Blood easily began to collect in his palm, and Vanitas held it in his cupped hand for a moment before nudging Noé.
“Open your mouth”
“You can’t,” Noé breathed, his voice barely a whisper. His head was spinning, he could feel the blood seeping out of the various wounds that scattered his body, but he was aware enough to smell the infatuating scent of Vanitas’ blood, conscious enough to be able to tell why the scent doubled tenfold as the blood began to flow into Vanitas’ cupped palm, “Your memories.”
“You’re not drinking it straight from me,” Vanitas said simply, quickly; almost too quick, as if he were trying to convince himself more than convincing Noé. After a moment of silence passed between them, Noé shook his head, “Why?!”
“I won’t risk it,” His voice was louder now, resolve lacing his tone, “I don’t… Your memories are yours.”
Vanitas stared at the wall ahead, almost shrouded in darkness, “You’ll die if you don’t.”
“And you’ll kill me if I do.” Noé retorted instantly, without skipping a beat, his voice quieting “… Last time?”
“I couldn’t then,” Vanitas sighed, leaning his head back against the wall And I wouldn’t now.
“I’ll be fine,” Noé winced, sliding down the wall slightly, deflating along with his sigh. Vanitas noticed how the “I’m fine” quickly turned into a “I’ll be fine” - and couldn’t quell the growing, sinking feeling that it would soon turn into “I’m not fine”. After everything, after all they had been through and all they had fought, was this really how it was going to end? Was this how Noé was going to die, right beneath his fingertips, where he couldn’t save him? Were his precious memories really worth Noé’s death?
As time passed, the blue moon became entirely visible from where they sat, far up in the sky - the same as the day that Noé jumped out of that airship to save Vanitas before they even knew one another, the same as so many days since in which they have been in one another’s company. Noé’s breaths fell heavily, uneven and gargled between every short breath Vanitas took, until they began to fall quieter, depths shallowing until Vanitas couldn’t hear them at all.
Shooting up, Vanitas knelt down beside Noé, pressing his fingers down on his neck and feeling the faint flutter of a pulse beneath his hand - faint, far too faint. A cry passed through his lips that he failed to hold back, and Vanitas threw his leg over Noé’s, grabbing a fistful of Noé’s hair into his hand and pressing Noé’s cool lips against the warm, pale skin at the nape of his neck.
“Please,” Vanitas whispered, “I can’t let you die.” He wished it could be any other way. He desperately wanted Noé to heal himself, to sleep the pain away and wake up perfectly fine - but he couldn’t see a way out that Noé survived without doing this; not when he and Noé were trapped without backup and only had each other to rely on. Vanitas would tell himself that he did this for him, he saved Noé because he wouldn’t be able to get out of this situation without Noé’s strength; but the part of him that felt his heart stop when the flutter of Noé’s pulse was so weak knew that it was about more than himself.
He would tell himself that, because Noé was so close to death, so far from consciousness, that he wouldn’t see his memories; all his secrets would be kept and Noé would never get to know him so intimately as to seeing all his most guarded memories, all his best kept secrets staying as that for as long as he lived - but Vanitas truly didn’t know whether Noé would see his past in this state. At that moment, he wondered if he even cared. The fear of being known seems so trivial and meaningless in comparison to the fear that settled in the pit of his stomach at the idea of Noé dying, while he just sat and watched.
Dropping his hand from Noé’s hair to feel his pulse with his thumb, Vanitas let his forehead fall against the coarse wall behind Noé, whispering his pleas and praying that if they make it out of this, whole and alive, that Noé never remembers these past few hours. He wanted to scold himself for thinking about them both surviving this when Noé refused to take his only chance of survival, when he heard Noé inhale deeply, shakily, and immediately after felt two sharp pin pricks abruptly stab his shoulder.
It was a familiar feeling, that euphoria that rushed through Vanitas’ veins, his head rolling back as the weightless feeling of ecstasy coursed through him, through from his fingertips to the back of his mind, quickening his heart, feeling the high like a drug. For a moment, he forgot the reason he was there, forgot why he was allowing Noé such an unimaginable thing, all he knew was the exhilaration that it caused. His eyes fluttered open after a moment, sliding into focus on the scarred stone wall before him, reminding him of Noé sat beneath him, of his injuries and the fact that, in that moment, the vampire knew everything there was to know about him.
A lightheaded feeling hit Vanitas, hard. A pain shooting through his head on the downfall of the euphoric feeling that having his blood drained caused, and he pressed his palm against Noé’s neck, gently pushing him away. He wasn’t sure how much blood Noé would need to heal, he wasn’t even sure if drinking blood alone would be enough to save him, but he also knew that he was going to pass out within minutes if Noé continued to drink at the rate he was going. Glancing to his shoulder, Vanitas’ eyes widened as he saw a dark mark begin to form, coiling into place, covering the spot where Noé’s fangs had struck, and Vanitas quickly felt hot blood rush to his cheeks as he realised how much blood was needed to be consumed for that to occur.
He released a shaky breath, a sharp wind cutting through the cell, bringing a shiver to roll down Vanitas’ spine as he moved to curl into Noé’s side to steal his limited warmth. Leaning forward to check Noé’s pulse once more, Vanitas allowed himself a small, hidden look of relief upon feeling that it felt at an almost normal rate; and, for the first time in days, felt genuine comfort, revelling in the thought that Noé would be okay.